


Get Your Blood Up, Love

by Hallianna



Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Witchers (The Witcher), Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Witchers, M/M, Murder Mystery, Protective Witchers (The Witcher), Vampire Bites, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampires, cw: blood, cw: gore, cw: murder, cw: violence, vampire lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29960853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: Jaskier's friend and business partner, a fellow vampire, has gone missing. It's a job for a Witcher, and the one who answers the contract is the famous, infamous White Wolf. And for the first time in a long while, Jaskier finds himself intrigued and captivated. It isn't *just* that the Witcher is gorgeous or wears leather that might as well be painted on. The White Wolf is dangerous.And Jaskier likes danger. But he doesn't know if the White Wolf likes vampires. And if he doesn't, maybe he can change the man's mind.Vampire!Jaskier meets modern Witcher Geralt.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Of Other Than Bardic Beginnings [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069358
Comments: 25
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keikei_firefly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keikei_firefly/gifts).



> The vampire lore is of my own creation, as is Raf (he shows up in a few of my Witcher fics as Jaskier's best friend).
> 
> Thank you to my friend Keikei for her early read! Your feedback was so helpful!
> 
> Goal is to post one to two chapters a week.

Geralt triple checked the address on the email one more time, then looked at the stark brick building on the corner before tucking his phone away. “Fuck. Not this place.”

Red Damask was a vampire club. Two things Geralt hated. It also billed itself as a “club for the nocturnal-curious” which made Geralt want to roll his eyes, if he cared to expend the energy.

Hate might have been a strong word for how he felt about vampires, but he did in fact hate clubs with a fiery fucking passion. They were loud, smelly, crowded, and watered down their drinks. No matter how many times Lambert tried to get him to go to this one or that one, it ended the same: a ringing headache and a foul mood that lasted for days.

 _Fuck_. 

Vampires were tolerable, mostly. The newly made were arrogant and capricious with the right master, downright cruel with the wrong one. Born vampires usually tried to stay on the right side of Witchers, but they were as ineffable as people in their motivations and far more deadly than any mortal. He’d met a few born vampires who were good sorts, but it was like meeting a mortal that was kind and giving.

Pretty fucking rare, even in his hundreds of years.

He watched the building for several long minutes, checking the patrol patterns of the security outside and the type of clientele waiting in their gothiest best in the long line that snaked around the block. Quite the popular spot then, for both the living and unliving. When he narrowed his eyes and focused, he noticed the line was pretty evenly split between heartbeats and lack thereof, confirming the rumors he’d heard about the place.

Better to double check, though. He dug his phone back out, bare fingers touching the little sleek thing Eskel insisted he carry at all times. Eskel it was then. Geralt waited for the line to ring through before he heard it click open. “Hey. Red Damask.”

“Vampire club?” He could almost hear the gears in Eskel’s head churning. “That’s where your new contract is? Shit. You’d think if it _was_ the owner contacting you, they might have said something up front.”

Geralt shrugged, not caring that it was an ineffectual motion for a phone conversation. “Maybe, maybe not. And I could have looked the address up but that contract on the other side of Long River took too fucking long.” He sighed. “If it’s a born vampire, makes sense they’d be a tad more secretive, especially since the Eternal Fires raids couple of decades back.”

Eskel grunted in agreement. “Shit yeah. Okay well hey, you want me to come down there? I can cover you.”

It was Eskel’s night off and he had their house to himself. Geralt wasn’t about to ruin that. “Don’t worry about it. But if you have time and aren’t completely sloshed, maybe do a little digging for me? I tried looking stuff up but the owner is secretive. You’re better at research.”

“Yep, got it. I’ll text you anything I get. You going in now?”

“In a few. I want to watch the line a bit longer, make sure no one’s trying to pull anything cause they think a Witcher’s coming in.”

He heard the telltale drop of ice in a glass and grinned just as Eskel said, “All right, but be careful, Wolf. Don’t make me interrupt Lambert’s date to pull your ass out of the fire.”

Geralt huffed. “Shit, he’d never let either of us forget it.”

“Yeah.”

They clicked off the call and Geralt went back to watching the pretty humans in line as they tried to not so subtly make eyes at the vampires waiting with them. He noted it was strange that a vampire club would make vampires queue but -

Even in the dark, his keen eyes caught sight of one beefy security guard waving the next two people in line to him. One was vampire, the other human but clearly the vampire’s date or mate of some kind from the way the human hung off their arm. The security guard stopped their forward movement and then waved a handheld metal detector over the human. Made sense, didn’t want anyone carrying a blade or gun in.

But the other guard held some kind of device of which he couldn’t make out the details. The vampire held out their wrist and the guard brought the device down, like a bracelet or a clamp. The vampire only flinched a little, and apparently whatever the device read was correct enough to motion both vampire and human inside.

This process repeated a few times as they let more people in. But he didn’t see anything odd, didn’t smell any creatures or enemies about. It was getting near midnight, which the owner had said was the right time to drop by in the email.

_  
Dearest Witchers - _

_I am the owner/operator of a business at 3411 Dusklane Drive outside of Novigrad. I have a contract I am willing to pay very good money for if you can find my missing compatriot, who disappeared almost a week ago. He was supposed to be gone only a few days but has yet to return home and I am concerned. He was both a friend and partner in my business and while his leave was to see family, I have tracked his last location to the forests far west of where he was supposed to be. You know of what I speak, surely._

_The stories around Black Marsh are ancient, and not incorrect. Or, at least not most of them. I know your order ensured the last hags were wiped from that foul place ages ago, but other things live there. Far darker, more dangerous things._

_If you wish to discuss this, please send one of your order around midnight, any night of your choosing. I’m attaching a good faith payment to this message; I know you cannot “retain” a Witcher’s services, but I hope it is enough to convey the seriousness of this matter._

_Sincerely,_

_A concerned friend_

_P.S. At the door, ask for Julian. The guards will know._

The email had come through five days ago, with a payment of one thousand orens. That was more money than Geralt made on the last two contracts, and it would pay for repairing the roof on the house he shared with Lambert and Eskel.

“Shit.” With a final sigh and a check of his gear, Geralt strode across the street. He knew the impression he was making, striding out of the shadows like a wraith, black leather jacket and pants glinting with only the barest bit of silver. The weapons at his back, including his dual swords, usually made people jump out of his way quickly.

And if he’d been any other Witcher aside from the famed White Wolf, human and vampire alike in line would have parted like the sea for him. But instead, his white hair caught the moonlight, and then the streetlight, and they were all crowding each other to get closer. To see and photograph the White Wolf. 

Infamous. Famous. Feared. Lusted after.

Not that he had any time for any of that bullshit, or cared about it. But it was hard enough being a Witcher. Far more fucking difficult being the most well-known one. Geralt could almost hear Lambert now: _Oh yeah, boo fucking hoo, Geralt. Means you could be swimming in money, ass, all of it. But no, had to have a fucking conscience_.

Lambert had been ribbing him. Mostly. But Lambert was also the only one of them getting consistent sex from someone, and even that was from another Witcher. A fucking Cat, of all people.

Geralt pushed it aside to stride up to the security guards, who were very much watching him. “Here for a job. Was told to ask for Julian,” he grunted, ignoring the murmur of the crowd and the click of a few dozen phone cameras.

“Put that shit away, or no one’s getting in!” The guard with the strange vampire bracelet yelled. The crowd muttered heatedly but slowly the noise died down. “Yeah, all right, boss said to expect you. Tony here will take you up.”

The other guard, a tall, well-built man with a rather enviable beard motioned him forward, moving the stanchion to let him pass. Geralt nodded but turned back to the other guard. “What is that device you were using on the vampires?”

The guard grinned and Geralt saw his front two teeth were capped in gold. “Don’t know the name of it, but it’s one of the boss’s inventions. Detects human blood. He won’t let any vampire in who feeds on humans.”

Geralt frowned. “It actually works?”

“Yeah. Can detect human blood back a year. Crazy. Boss is serious, he doesn’t want people chompers in here. Supposed to be safe for everyone.”

And with that Tony motioned him inside, leaving Geralt to follow and stew on that bit of information. Vampires who fed on people usually had a willing partner, since randomly eating people led to swiftly being hunted down by someone like him. But others were sneaky about it, employing their charm or will or both to lure a human into being a “pet” for a few weeks. They’d feed from the human, bag a bunch of blood, and then repeat the process when they ran out. Smart, but even that plan had a shelf life. Pets always came back pale and anemic, and doctors knew what to be on the lookout for.

Of all the things he wasn’t expecting tonight, he found himself curious. “This Julian, he’s the owner?” Geralt asked as they entered a long, dim service corridor. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the steady thump of club music, could already feel it rattling his skull unpleasantly.

“Yeah, but he don’t use that name much. Everyone here knows him as Jaskier.”

Geralt’s phone buzzed with a message from Eskel as he followed Tony into another hallway. 

**_From: Eskel_ **

_Owner’s a born vampire, name Jaskier. Julian Pankratz on legal paperwork. Sending a pic._

And there he was, this Jaskier. Dressed in a perfectly fitted pinstripe suit, he was seated on a tall wooden chair and leaning over a massive desk; the epitome of power player. The photo was in color - something Geralt was still getting used to - and showed a remarkable head of dark brown hair swept roguishly off his face and to the side. But the eyes were what caught Geralt’s attention.

Those eyes pierced through him through the phone screen. Deep dark blue with a hint of grey near the pupil, and wise like one would expect from an immortal being of untold centuries.

“All right, up you go,” Tony said. “Boss knows you're here, don’t bother knocking.”

“Got it, thanks.”

Tony turned to leave and Geralt fired off a quick reply to Eskel.

**_From: Geralt_ **

_Good to know. Headed in._

  
  


**_From: Eskel_ **

_Watch your back, Wolf._

* * *

“Raf, how many tonight?”

“Four.”

“Only four?” Jaskier gave his second a close look. “Surprising. Usually we’re dealing with more hooligans on Friday nights.”

The taller man shrugged. “Place is packed but yes, only four booted from the line for human feeding.”

“Good, good. Perhaps word is getting around.”

That drew a snicker from Raf. “After a few years, you mean.”

“Indeed.” 

The ever-present phone in Raf’s hand buzzed and he glanced down, then up at him. “A Witcher’s here, asking for Julian.”

Hope fluttered in his chest. “I didn’t think….well, that’s a relief. Maybe we can solve this mess and put it to bed.” Jaskier cast his eyes away for a long moment, then sighed. “If Benedict’s dead -“

Raf put a hand on his shoulder and Jaskier drooped under his touch. “I know.” The phone buzzed once more and this time Raf froze as he read the message. “Boss.”

“Hmm?”

Raf turned hazel grey eyes on him, his face a perfect expression of shock. An expression Jaskier didn’t know Raf had in his extensive repertoire. “It’s the White Wolf.”

It was now his turn to look shocked. “You’re shitting me.”

Raf shoved the phone in his face. There were already several social media posts about seeing “The White Wolf” at Red Damask, many with fuzzy or quickly snapped photos of the back of a tall, broad man with double swords on his back, dressed in black leather. It could have been any Witcher except for that white hair.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. “More than I could have hoped for. If anyone can find Benedict, it’s him.”

Raf was already edging toward the door. “I’ll keep an eye on the floor.”

“Good. Only call me if there’s an emergency.”

He nodded, hand on the doorknob. “And boss? Maybe get rid of the jacket. Pop the top two buttons.”

He arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re saying I look stuffy.”

“I’m saying you look like a vampire mobster, which works most nights. But you don’t exactly look relatable.”

Jaskier cocked his head, unwilling to smile and let Raf know how amused he was. “Any other suggestions?”

Raf gave him a fanged grin. “Yeah. Be nice.”

As he left, Jaskier scoffed. “I’m always nice.”


	2. Chapter 2

Once Raf was gone, Jaskier ditched his jacket and hung it on the rack nearby. He popped open the top  _ three _ buttons on his shirt and glanced into the mirror in the attached bathroom. The swirling marks on his skin shifted under the light. Three might be a bit indecent, since one wrong move meant the black satin would slip around, revealing a bit too much. 

But anticipation thrummed under his skin and he couldn’t be bothered about it any longer. Especially not when he was just sitting back down when his door swung open and the White Wolf stepped inside.

They stared at each other for a long moment. More than enough time for Jaskier to take a good look at the most famous Witcher on the Continent and beyond. He was, in one word,  _ stunning _ . Just acres and acres of black leather wrapped around his tight, muscular body. Leather that did not leave a bit to the imagination, and Jaskier had a pretty damn good one. Two massive swords were strapped to his back along with a crossbow. Daggers on one hip, a pouch on the other. Fingerless gloves showed broad, blunt fingers that Jaskier was not at all curious about.

And then those eyes. Gold irises, cat-slit pupils, framed in surprisingly long black lashes. They were topped with dark grey eyebrows and framed by a scar through the right eye. It must have been by some miracle or grace of good luck the eye hadn’t been lost. And far be it from him to not notice how fucking handsome the Witcher was, in a rugged, cut-jaw, supremely manly kind of way.

“Jaskier? Or is it Julian?”

Jaskier took a long, unneeded breath and nodded. “Jaskier, if you please. Come in, Witcher. Shut the door behind you.”

The Witcher’s steps ate ground in what was a spacious office, and Jaskier could feel the weight of his tread vibrate beneath his feet. He stood before Jaskier’s desk at a respectful distance away and inclined his head. “You sent a contract. I’m here to claim it.”

Jaskier licked his lips before leaning forward, noting with a distinct amount of pleasure that the White Wolf was watching his every little move. But he didn’t smell any hesitation or wariness. Just a bit of clove mixed in with the delightful scent of leather. Good. It wouldn’t do to have a vampire-hater working for him, Witcher or not.

“Sit, please.” He gestured to the chair in the corner and it slid soundlessly up, nearly bumping into the Witcher. But not quite.

“Huh, good trick.” But the Witcher sat, leather creaking softly with his movement.

“Isn’t that a bit stiff?”

The Witcher blinked. “What?”

Jaskier gestured to him. “Your clothing. So much leather. Must be tough to move in.” He gave him a slight smile, showing off his fangs. “Though I suppose you wouldn’t wear it if it wasn’t practical.”

The White Wolf seemed at a loss for a long moment, head cocked like a dog. Finally, just as Jaskier could scent his agitation, he said, “Appreciate the upfront payment. And you were right.”

“Oh?”

“You can’t retain Witchers.”

Jaskier licked a fang. “And yet, you’re here.” He took quick stock of the silver on the Witcher’s clothes, the simple looped band on his wrist, the single chain on his neck, the rest of which was hidden by his shirt. He could trace every line of muscle hidden by those tight leathers and wondered how many scars his clothes hid. “What should I call you? Witcher? The White Wolf?”

The other man scoffed. “Geralt’s fine. And yeah, I’m here. Dug into Black Marsh a bit. Been there a few times, but as you said, we were the ones to clean the last hags out.” Geralt gave him a wry smile and Jaskier felt it in his gut. The smile of a predator. The same kind of expression he saw in the mirror every day. “So if there’s something making that place its new home, we should be called in. Smart move on your part.”

Jaskier inclined his head. “Though I’m afraid it’s more sentimentality than intelligence in my case. My business partner - my friend - has disappeared and his last known location was Black Marsh.” He bit back a frustrated sigh and instead stood to pace. “I’ve known Benedict for a hundred years. I trained him to be what he is, taught him everything I know. He had no reason to go to Black Marsh.”

Now he had Geralt’s attention and it was a bit like being under the spotlight of his gaze. If Jaskier’s face could have heated it would have. “Dangerous place. You said he was supposed to be visiting family?”

“Indeed. In Oxenfurt.”

Those grey brows drew down. “That’s hundreds of miles away.”

“Hence my worry.”

Geralt leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees. “People don’t divert without a good reason. Did he make a habit of running off?”

“No, never.” Jaskier looked away, feeling his throat constrict a little. Benedict was a good man, a good vampire, and the least flighty of their kind. “He wasn’t the type.”

Jaskier told him a bit about Benedict. How their families had always been close and when Benedict was born the first vampire in generations into his bloodline, Jaskier had offered his tutelage. They remained fast friends over the decades, and when Benedict wished to get into business, Jaskier took him on as a junior partner.

“What exactly did he do for you?” Geralt asked, that uncanny gaze still fixed on Jaskier as he eventually settled back behind his desk.

“The books, mostly. He’s got a head for numbers and had turned a tidy profit on his own investing, so I offered him a small stake in the club if he could help our revenue stream.” Jaskier gestured to the wide picture window behind Geralt. “See for yourself.”

Geralt frowned. “I’m good.”

“Not a fan of clubs, I take it?”

“Too loud. Too many people.”

That tracked with what Jaskier had heard about Witchers and their heightened sensitivities. “Do you have no way of blocking it out?”

The frown on Geralt’s face deepened, shadowing those beautiful eyes. A pity, really. “No.”

That seemed...wrong. Jaskier stood and motioned for Geralt to join him at the window. The one-way glass showed the entire club floor, catwalk to bar to dance cages. All of it thrumming with movement and color to the heavy bass beat of something Jaskier didn’t care to learn the name of. But none of it bothered him. 

The opposite, really. “Red Damask was a dream of mine,” he said softly as Geralt stood at his left. “Born vampires weren’t always treated like part of society. Not like now.” He glanced at the Witcher, who wasn’t looking out the window.

He was fixing those gold eyes on Jaskier. A shiver went down his spine.

“Though I think you know the story, good Witcher. So I won’t bore you. But the world moved on and suddenly it was okay to be like this. Maybe not in certain areas but -“ He trailed off, running his fingers absently over the marks around his collarbone.  _ Fastina. Sin marks. Evidence of a bloodline’s failings. _ Those gold eyes followed the movement of his fingers and he wanted to grin so badly. There was more than professional interest in that stare. Jaskier would have bet the money in the safe on that.

“I wanted a place where people could be themselves, with no fear or repercussions. Somewhere vampires and humans could mingle without fear.”

“The device your guards use. They said it detects human blood in a vampire’s system.”

Jaskier nodded. “I won’t have chompers in here. We keep a strict code of conduct, there are no private rooms or little hidden nooks, and I’ve on-site security - on my payroll. What you see before you is Red Damask. People having a good time  _ together _ .” He wanted to cringe at the passion in his words, especially when standing so close to a stalwart Witcher.

But Geralt didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looked thoughtful; those gold eyes narrowed as he stared out the window. And then there was a flicker of pain over his face and he stepped away. “It’s a laudable goal. Hope you can keep it up.”

Jaskier turned to face him, arms crossed. “Why wouldn’t I? I set the trend with this club. Trademarked the term ‘nocturnal-curious’. Now I have five locations and two more being built this year, before Yule.” He knew it sounded haughty but didn’t he have a right to be?

The Witcher hummed in thought, scraping that gaze over Jaskier’s form in a way that made the vampire feel  _ seen _ . It was disconcerting at best. “You speak like it was solely a business decision.”

“It wasn’t?”

Geralt stepped into his space, looking down only a few inches so their eyes met. Jaskier would have flushed if biologically possible. The man had thighs thicker than his biceps and all Jaskier could think about was peeling those stupidly tight leather pants off him. “I suspect not.” He traced Jaskier’s face with his gaze, letting it linger on the cheekbones, the rounded chin. Then lower, over collarbones and exposed chest swathed in dark hair and carved with  _ fastina _ .  _ Sin marks _ . Those raised marks under his flesh that spoke in code and indecipherable prophecy. “You don’t feed from humans. You find it cruel. Horrific. And even though it’s a business, you don’t want vampires like that in your club.” He took one more step forward and Jaskier let him crowd closer.

He wasn’t the only dangerous thing in the room. And now, standing in the shadow of the White Wolf, feeling heat roll off the man’s body, Jaskier wanted to touch. Geralt was even more beautiful up close, all hard jawline and loose white hair and intense eyes. Trust a  _ Witcher _ to be the one to see him for more than what he was on the outside. “You see quite a bit, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured, tipping his head up. 

_ As if in invitation. As if he wanted the Witcher to do something. Anything. As long as it involved his lips. _

“Hmm.” Geralt gave him one last, smoldering look and then stepped back. If he’d had a working heart and lungs, they would have been straining in riotous empathy for the heat sparking and twisting in his gut. “I’ll start on the search in the morning if we can agree to a price. Daily updates enough for you?”

Jaskier blinked at the sudden change in topics but smiled. Oh, the Witcher was  _ good _ . This was going to be fun. 

Hammering out details wasn’t an issue. He was willing to pay quite a bit to get Benedict back, even if it was a body he could put to rest at the vampire’s family estate in the countryside. At least it would be closure. And he appreciated the way Geralt didn’t haggle, didn’t wheedle for more.

Not that a man like that would ever  _ wheedle _ . 

But there wasn’t so much as a flicker in the man’s face as they set the reward and how to deal with updates. Jaskier didn’t mind if they came via text or email, as he was often too busy to take calls (and why would you with the modern age’s technology?). But he did want any trace of Benedict, any clues, sent his way. 

“Don’t trust me?” the Witcher asked, hand on the doorknob as he turned to leave.

Jaskier suddenly hated to see him go, wanted to find another excuse to keep him there. “You and I have both been around long enough to know betrayal takes all forms, Geralt,” he purred, turning in his chair and crossing one slim ankle over his knee. “But I do trust you. Witchers aren’t lauded and sought after because you’re so good at killing monsters.”

One grey eyebrow raised. “Seems to be exactly why we’re trusted.”

Jaskier gave a small shake of his head and an indulgent smile. “You’re trusted because you’re honorable. Even the most scraggly and cantankerous of you cuts a finer figure and holds more honor than most humans. I’ve worked with Witchers before, and I’ve never been disappointed.” He let his eyes slide over Geralt’s form, lingering in intimate places like the cut of his shoulders, the heft of his thighs. “I believe this will be my most rewarding partnership yet.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt reflects on the new contract, and on Jaskier; Geralt and Eskel search for Benedict and encounter more than they bargained for in Black Marsh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write original fiction as well! I’m on Patreon where you’ll get snippets of my vampire/fantasy/romance novel, Wilderwood, plus TTRPG content and more! [Patreon page](https://www.patreon.com/hallithedm)

Geralt took his time getting back home, giving Eskel until about one in the morning to get nice and sloshed and wind up asleep face down in the sofa. But when he approached the front porch, twelve pack in hand, he didn’t hear the telltale snoring.

With a frown, Geralt unlocked the door with his passcode and slipped inside. The front room was dark, the kitchen beyond empty, and he didn’t hear any footsteps, water running, or snoring. But Eskel’s truck was on the street; he’d parked behind it.

Hackles up, Geralt set the beer down and focused. Listening.

There it was. A noise.

A….sigh?

He scented the air and smelled arousal, musky and deep and like warm fur in a moonlit forest. 

_Eskel_. 

And then the spike of hot cinnamon in whiskey, dust warming in the sun….

 _Lambert_.

Lambert’s date must not have gone well after all. 

Or maybe it had. He caught another scent, unfamiliar but male, turned by mutagens and not at all unpleasant. Like a verdant greenhouse full of odd, exotic plants warming themselves in the humidity.

 _That was new_.

And then he heard Lambert sigh Aiden’s name and everything clicked. They’d know he was home, having heard the front door. But he had two choices - sneak off to his room and try not to listen to the _three_ of them together, or camp out on the sofa. It was actually a good sofa, and he could catch a rerun of the baseball game.

And it would serve them right to find Geralt naked and asleep in the morning.

Sofa it was then.

He checked the doors, set the alarm, and tossed his phone and keys on the sideboard Lambert had picked up at a yard sale for a couple of orens. Thing was old and out of fashion but they all liked it. 

“Has a lived-in look,” Eskel said when Lambert carted it home like a proud parent.

“Looks battered to shit,” Geralt had countered with a grin.

Lambert had told them both to fuck off and set the rickety thing in the front room. And there it lived four years later. But at least it was no longer battered to shit since Eskel had made it his summer project to fix it up.

He stripped out of his gear, setting it and his weapons aside, and sat on the couch in his underwear, beer in one hand and remote in the other. Only once the game was on did he let his thoughts drift to the vampire and the contract.

The contract was pretty standard missing persons stuff, even if it was a vampire. Chances were Benedict had been lured or seduced to Black Marsh. He’d lay odds the man was dead. Black Marsh was nowhere to tread lightly, even as a supernatural being. Or a Witcher. He’d need to talk to Eskel and Lambert - and Aiden, if he stuck around - in the morning and see if anyone wanted to split the reward up.

Ten thousand orens. A couple of years worth of income. Enough to handle every problem with the house, fix all their vehicles, and put them in new gear with some to spare. It was easier now as Witchers, with technology and capitalism being what it was.

The job didn’t worry him. His employer did.

Hard not to notice when an attractive man - no matter his biological makeup or nature - sat in a massive chair as pleased as could get with half his shirt undone. Geralt wasn’t usually picky about the outside, since he found women and men and all in-between as equally attractive. It was the _nature_ of someone that was enticing.

And Jaskier was a temptation.

He wasn’t an ancient vampire. Geralt pegged him for around three or four hundred. Enough to wrap the vampire in age and wisdom, not enough to make him a misanthrope, like so many of the old ones. Quite the opposite; Jaskier seemed to thrive in the middle of the nightlife scene. Geralt hadn’t missed the way the hazy red spotlights had danced across his face, highlighting slices of cheekbone and jaw that stirred something primal in his gut.

Jaskier was attractive. And knew it. That kind of arrogance usually irritated Geralt, but in that office, the way the vampire had looked at him….

He shifted on the couch, willing the stirring in his underwear to calm the fuck down. Now was not the time.

Another breathy moan came from above and Geralt ground his teeth. “Aren’t you fucking done yet?” He yelled, agitated and suddenly rather horny.

There was a thump, then a muffled curse, then masculine laughter. The creak of a door. Footsteps descending.

“Should join us,” Eskel said, face flushed and panting as he eyed Geralt sitting mostly naked on the sofa. “You look about halfway there already.”

He took a deep breath, let his eyes flutter briefly before looking at Eskel, who was naked and hard and slightly sweaty. 

_Fuck_.

Geralt sprang to his feet and launched himself at Eskel, pressing his friend into the wall, mouth hungry. Eskel grunted but Geralt could feel his smile curl against his own mouth before two large hands were gripping his ass. “You only had to ask, Wolf,” he muttered before gasping into Geralt’s biting kiss. “Fuck.”

“Shut up,” Geralt growled into his mouth. He tore away only long enough to shove Eskel up the stairs, slapping an ass that felt good under his palm. 

Eskel only laughed and raced ahead, darting into Lambert’s room briefly. “Carry on, lovebirds,” he said with a wide, feral grin. “I’m stealing the Wolf.”

Lambert, who was riding Aiden’s cock like it was his job, waved them on without a word. Geralt caught sight of one bright green cat eye before Aiden bucked into Lambert’s touch. 

Eskel pulled their door shut as casual as could be before asking, “Yours or mine?”

Geralt shoved him into his own door and as they tumbled inward, kicked it shut behind them, much to Eskel’s delight.

* * *

**_Two days later_ **

“I hate camping in marshes,” Geralt groused as he and Eskel unpacked their gear from his truck.

Eskel shrugged, hefting a pack onto his back. “Could be worse. Could be winter.”

Geralt frowned. “It’s a marsh. It smells like peat and bugs and death.”

“Still could be winter.”

“Then it wouldn’t stink.”

Eskel sidled up next to him with a shit-eating grin. “Afraid of some bugs, Geralt? Need me to stand guard?”

Geralt cuffed him gently on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

They were parked in a small lot at a trailhead that would take them into the forest that looped around Black Marsh. This was Continent property, so to the public they’d look like legitimate campers on a nice fall day.

And then it would be as simple as ducking under the useless ropes meant to keep people from getting sucked into the bog. The plan was to ask the park rangers if they’d seen anything odd - rangers usually didn’t mind Witchers - and then do a patrol to pick up any sign of Benedict.

Geralt had figured all roads would lead to Black Marsh and camping in the bog. He wasn’t thrilled in the least. Contacting Benedict’s family in Oxenfurt had been informative - they had no idea he was supposed to visit, and hadn’t heard from him in months.

When he’d texted the information to Jaskier, he’d immediately gotten a call from the vampire.

_“So he lied to me?”_

_Geralt shrugged, not caring Jaskier couldn’t see him. “Apparently. I talked to his great granddaughter, grand niece, and a bunch of cousins. They hadn’t seen him since Yule last year.”_

_There was a sigh on the other end of the phone and then, “Then what in blazing hells is going on?”_

_“That’s what you hired me to figure out. We’re headed out into Black Marsh tomorrow, see if we can pick up a trail.”_

_There was silence for a beat and then Jaskier said, “We?”_

_“Me and another Witcher. I’m not taking the chance. It took two of us to bring down the hags.”_

_Jaskier chuckled. “Good to know you’re not too arrogant to go dashing off into danger by yourself.”_

_Geralt snorted. “I’m a Witcher. I’m usually on my own.”_

_“But not this time.”_

_“No.” Geralt paused, and then said, “I’ll update you tomorrow, once we hit the trailhead. If you hear anything about Benedict -”_

_“I’ll call.”_

_“Fair warning, reception’s spotty in the Marsh.”_

_That made Jaskier grin. “I have my ways, Witcher. Talk tomorrow.” And the line went dead._

Geralt wanted to roll his eyes. Figured a vampire would be dramatic, no matter how handsome he was.

Eskel’s voice drew him out of his thoughts. “Wolf, no cars here makes sense. But no rangers either?”

Geralt paused to look around. “Shit. You’re right.” Rangers were always nearby, even if the trail wasn’t busy. But they were alone with the trees and the crows and something dropped in his stomach. A boulder in the river.

Eskel edged closer to him and said in a low voice, “I don’t even smell any deer. We’re in rut season. The forest should be echoing with them.”

A branch snapped somewhere deep in the trees and they both whirled, swords out in twin flashes of silver in the greyed sunlight.

“Help me.”

A shadowed figure stumbled out of the treeline, a bloody hand pressed to their gut. They were deathly pale, black veins skittering over their skin. And eyes that had once been a vibrant brown were ashen with pain and poison.

“Fuck,” Geralt said as they both took off, Eskel watching their back lest it was a trap for two Witchers in their prime. 

“Is that him?” Eskel yelled as they neared. Geralt jerked his head no, putting on a burst of speed as the man - a human - toppled forward, knees cracking as he hit the ground.

“Help,” the man gasped just as Geralt caught him, preventing him from landing face down on the soggy, leaf-strewn ground. Blood gushed over Geralt’s pants, coating his hands. The blood reeked, like rotten eggs left in the sun. Eskel rushed in, immediately pulling a first aid kit from his pack.

Geralt shook his head. “Not good,” he muttered, noting the man’s innards were distinctly not inside his body and he bore claw marks on his neck. “Doesn’t have long.”

The man gasped, mouth puckering like a fish trying to breathe. “Marsh….vampire,” he gasped, voice raspy, rattling with each shaky, broken word. “He’s….infected…”

More blood, hot to the point of burning on his flesh, gushed forth and the man went limp. His heart stopped.

Quickly, Geralt took the rag and bottle of water Eskel offered and washed his hands, unsure of what the man’s infected blood could do to him. To be safe, he downed a poison antidote, grimacing against the vile licorice taste. “What the fuck is going on?” Eskel asked, scanning the trees for more dangers, or more victims.

“No idea.” Geralt looked down at the man’s body and watched as the black veins skittering across his skin receded, returning his pallor to _dead_ instead of _dead and infected_. “Fuck.”

A dead body, a possibly infected vampire, and the oncoming dark were all working against them. 

They didn’t usually deal in dead human bodies. Typically the authorities called in a Witcher - the ones who weren’t too stubborn or stupid, that is - and took care of any human victims. He and Eskel both had needed to make a victim disappear in the past, usually into the hands of a medical examiner who wouldn’t ask questions for the right amount of orens. That way the body could get back to the family and he could do his job.

This was tricky. So Geralt did the only thing he could think of. “I need to call Jaskier,” he told Eskel as they laid the man down and scrubbed at their hands again. “This far out here, with night coming, don’t have much of a choice.”

“I don’t like it, but I don’t think we can do anything else.” Eskel glanced down at the dead man, who looked more like a wax figure of a zombie than a human being at this stage. The rapid decay of the man’s flesh was disturbing, to say the least. 

Geralt nodded and jogged back to his truck, where he still had reception. Jaskier picked up immediately. It took him about thirty seconds to explain the problem, and another thirty for Jaskier to agree to send his men out to pick up the man’s corpse. “You need to find the family,” he said, flipping open the wallet he’d dug out of the man’s jacket. “Tannyon Urdine. 516 Hartsford Lane, in Novigrad.”

“Bit of a ways from home,” Jaskier mused, almost as an aside to himself. 

“Like Benedict,” Geralt agreed, making Jaskier hum. “Something else, but it’s not good.”

“Well, considering there’s a dead man in the woods outside Black Marsh, I wasn’t expecting puppies and cake.”

Geralt snorted. “Before he died, he said something about an infected vampire in the Marsh.” That made Jaskier suck in a breath Geralt knew he didn’t need. “We’re going to set up camp and keep watch. Don’t need any other innocent people wandering into the woods to become food.”

There was a long pause; long enough that Geralt could almost hear the gears turning in the vampire’s mind. Finally he responded, his voice soft. “That’s good. If it’s Benedict doing this, please stop him. The Benedict I know would never harm someone, so if it is him, he wouldn’t want to be like this.”

Geralt heard what Jaskier wouldn’t - or couldn’t - say.

 _Put him down_.

“Consider it done.”

“One more thing, Geralt.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t die. I’d like to present you with your reward in person.”

Maybe Geralt was imagining it, but the way Jaskier said _reward_ felt weighter than anything having to do with money. “There’s two of us. We’ll be fine.”

“I hope so. Take care, Witcher.”

Jaskier ended the call and Geralt relayed the information. They rolled Tannyon into a tarp from Geralt’s truck and put him between their vehicles, out of direct line of sight. They didn’t have to wait long for Jaskier’s men to roll up in a large utility vehicle and with barely a word, take Tannyon’s body.

Tony, the guard Geralt had met earlier in the week, handed him a brown paper bag. “Courtesy of the boss,” Tony said with a knowing grin. “Gonna get cold tonight.”

Once they departed, Geralt pulled a bottle of very fine Toussaint bourbon out of the bag, the sight of which made Eskel whistle under his breath. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer, Wolf,” he said, handling the bottle like it was a newborn before giving it back to Geralt.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “It’s bourbon.”

“It’s _Toussaint M’terge bourbon_ and it’s fucking expensive as fucking hell.” Eskel eyed the bottle with an expert’s knowledge. “Almost a shame to drink it. Probably worth four or five hundred orens at least.”

Geralt frowned. “Why the fuck did he give me this?”

Eskel nudged him with a friendly shoulder. “I told you. He’s an admirer.” He hefted one bag of their gear over his shoulder and made for the treeline. “You should check his pockets when you get back, see if he’s got a White Wolf fanclub card.”

Geralt’s groan echoed around them, making Eskel laugh.

The night passed uneventfully, which was disappointing to them both. Geralt was in the mood for a good fight, particularly since he’d had a good fuck two nights prior. And no matter how much he enjoyed Eskel’s cock in his ass, they were never going to strip down in the middle of a rain-soaked forest with a rabid vampire on the loose.

They sat, they drank, they talked. They kept watch in rotating shifts. Eskel whittled like he always did when in camp; something to keep his hands and mind occupied. _Better than staring out into the dark waiting to see if something’s going to try to eat you_ , he always told Geralt.

Geralt preferred staring into the dark. It was meditative, in a way. You could let your sight go fuzzy at the edges, deepen your breathing, let your muscles relax. So if you had to jump up and fight, it was one smooth, solid movement with a flash of blade that hopefully ended with a creature’s head rolling across the ground.

Dawn crept in slowly and unevenly. Mist roiled around their camp and Geralt could almost feel the wind trying to snake beneath his gear, like someone breathing down his neck. It was unsettling and unnatural. Eskel flickered to a quiet wakefulness as the horizon bled out with pinks and purples. “Anything?” He said, rolling over to face Geralt.

“Nothing. But still no deer, only a few birds.” He gripped his sword, feeling its weight and strength to buoy him against the unease in his gut. “We should break camp once the sun is up and see if we can trek inwards at all. Benedict’s a born vampire so he won’t be sun sensitive. But we might be able to catch him with **_Yrden_ **.”

Eskel nodded thoughtfully as he set up the camp coffee maker. “Set up a tree blind, see if he stumbles into a trap? I’d say take down a deer as bait but…”

“I can stay on the ground,” Geralt said, “spill some blood and let the scent catch him. Never met a vampire able to ignore Witcher blood.”

“And I can’t say I like that plan but you’re right.” Eskel put a hand on his shoulder. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight, Wolf.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but Eskel’s concern was never something he could just shrug off. He was like that; a good friend, a good Witcher, and a good man. “Deal.”

Once dawn spilled hazy, washed-out colors across the forest, they broke camp and tramped deeper into the trees. It didn’t take long before they both caught the scent of human blood and followed it to a slow trickle of a riverbank. Torn clothing, more blood, and a trail led them north along a slippery incline. At the top of the hill was the attack site, given the dried pool of blood, claw marks on the trees, and a torn human ear on the ground.

Laying down **_Yrden_ ** and setting up the tree blind didn’t take long, but Geralt felt as if they should hurry. There was something about this part of the forest, where the ground felt like he was walking on dirty kitchen sponges and the air stank of death. He felt watched from all sides, even though he saw no monsters, no woodland creatures.

Hackles raised, he gave Eskel a boost up into a nearby tree and then kneeled on the marshy ground to wait.

* * *

Jaskier was antsy. Geralt had said their night in Black Marsh had been rather boring, aside from finding a victim.

 _A victim of Benedict’s_. Even now he refused to believe it, but sometimes it wasn’t how you stumbled onto an answer, but the answer itself that was important. All the evidence so far pointed to Benedict being the one to eviscerate that man. Despite knowing him for decades, despite being his mentor and friend, some part of Jaskier had to believe it was him. Because any vampire could become what Benedict had turned into.

A murderer.

Born or made vampire, every single one of his species had violence at their center. They were made of needle-sharp teeth and claws that tore and a desire for blood that wiped out all higher thought and function. No matter how old, how civilized….any vampire could kill.

He had. It had been in self-defense, but he’d taken lives. And now Benedict had. Jaskier rubbed at the marks on his neck and grimaced. 

“Boss.”

Jaskier sighed and turned his head to see Raf poke his face into the office. “All right? Need anything?”

He huffed and motioned Raf inside. “Answers would be nice. A resolution would be better.”

Raf sat on the edge of one of the chairs in front of Jaskier’s desk, propping his elbows on his knees. His _fastina_ glowed gently in the morning light, so he must have recently fed. Raf was always cautious about smelling like blood; Jaskier caught only the slightest hint of deer musk on him. “The Witcher will find him, Jask.” A wicked light glinted in his friend’s hazel eyes. “And then you can reward him.”

Jaskier groaned and tossed a pen at his head, which of course Raf caught. “It’s not like that.”

“No? Then why were you all hot and bothered after the Witcher left the other night?”

“His name is Geralt,” Jaskier replied as he leaned back in his chair, “and I wasn’t _hot and bothered_.” Raf only raised an eyebrow at him and stared. “Fine. You win. What am I supposed to do, ignore that there was an incredibly attractive man mere feet from me?”

His friend barked out a laugh, his expression now delighted. “If you had I would have asked if you were ill. No one was ignoring that man. Even Tony was making moon eyes, and you know he only likes bears.”

Jaskier grumbled something about Witchers and bears, making Raf laugh once more. Finally, he stood, rolling the kinks from his neck and following Raf out the door. “I need to sleep. Staying up three nights in a row isn’t going to bring Benedict back.” 

Raf’s hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Go home, Jask. Rest.” And then Jaskier was being gently - but firmly - ushered out the door by his best friend. The drive home was boring, leaving him to idly flip through the radio stations looking for anything that wasn’t some obnoxious morning zoo type show. When that failed, he turned the radio off, put down the windows, and let the fall air muss his hair into a hopeless, tangled mop.

It wasn’t until he was leaning heavily against his front door and eyeing the fridge that Jaskier noticed something was wrong. Exhaustion would dull anyone’s senses, even a vampire’s. But something prickled on the edges of his awareness. A disturbance. A tremor. One ripple in his otherwise still pond.

Jaskier edged away from the door, stalking forward on silent feet, hands already balled into fists. If his heart beat, it would have been thudding in his ears, but he felt the surge of adrenaline nonetheless.

“Jaskier.”

Benedict stumbled forward, black-veined and monstrously deformed, and collapsed in a heap in Jaskier’s arms.


End file.
